Beyond Here Lies Nothing
by Unmarked
Summary: A sort-of companion to "Lines of Succession". Ancient history between Sibylla Cousland and Nathaniel Howe that doesn't mean much, in the grand scheme of things. Rated M for good reason. Cousland/Nathaniel one shot


**Disclaimer**: Bioware owns the awesomeness that is Dragon Age.

**Authors Note:** This is something that has been kicking around in my head from one of my other stories, "Lines of Succession"…except it really has no place there. It was just too good to pass up so here's a one shot of ancient history.

**Beyond Here Lies Nothing**

Sibylla wasn't sure exactly when she began to see him as less Fergus's friend and more _Nathaniel_ but the infrequency of his visits to Highever began to weigh on her most heavily once her mind began to make the distinction. When her father announced that Arl Howe would be visiting with Nathaniel and Thomas, she could not contain the wistful sigh. Her freakishly observant brother (she hadn't been _that_ obvious, had she?) just rolled his eyes and continued shoveling food down his gullet like it was going out of style.

Thomas would be a problem, of course. He was endlessly fascinated with her prowess in the arts of combat and rarely left her to a moment of peace, which would make seeing Nathaniel _impossible_. Still...she was determined to gain his attention and there was very little in life that eluded her when she set to the task of obtaining it.

The Maker himself seemed to be smiling on her when Nathaniel arrived because Fergus was _bedridden_ and utterly unable to entertain his friend. Better still was the lack of young Thomas, who had been left with his mother and sister, Delilah.

"Pup, do you think you can keep Nathaniel occupied while Arl Howe and I discuss some business?" her father asked, voice full of sympathy for having to impose upon her so.

"Of _course_, father. Anything to help." She demurred, hoping that her intentions were not as transparent as they _felt_.

"That's a good girl." He smiled and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Might I suggest the tourney in the outskirts this afternoon? I know how you _love_ those."

"You would let me go? _Really_?"

"_Only_ if you promise not to let your mother find out…"

"Have you no faith in me, father?"

"Of _course_ I do, Pup. But if she comes asking, I'm pleading ignorance."

When the Howes arrived, she stood beside her father in the main hall to receive them, doing her best to stand proud and impressive, though her gaze would shift to Nathaniel every few moments. Maker's breath, was he _smiling_ at her? Another look just to be sure, then.

Yes. Yes, he certainly was.

"Alas, Fergus has taken ill these past few days. It will fall to my lovely and capable daughter to keep you busy, Nathaniel."

"I look forward to it, Your Grace."

"Off with you then, young ones." Arl Howe waved them away, leading Teyrn Cousland in the direction of the study.

They were suddenly very _alone_ and she had no idea how to proceed. She'd only planned to get him alone, after all. Beyond that…she was at a loss.

"So…"

"I don't suppose you mean for me to accompany you to your needlework…"

"Ye of little faith! I may not be _Fergus_, but I think my plans will be to your liking."

"If you are half so untamed as your brother claims, you might be right."

If that was the highest praise Fergus could muster, it would have to do. It was mostly true, in any case.

"Come then, Ser Doubtful…let us join the festivities at the tournament."

"A tournament? And you won't be bored?"

"Perhaps if you had gotten to know me better these past few years, you would know that I _love_ tournaments. And sparring. And swordplay. Fergus isn't the only one who enjoys such things."

They visited the stables to acquire horses and rode to the outskirts of Highever, learning to see each other in a new light as the day wore on.

Each visit saw Nathaniel spending less time with Fergus and more with her. They wasted the days showing off; he with his bow, she with her shield. Underneath a canopy of trees, he pried her shield away from her grip and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground. She was about to protest the poor treatment of what she saw as an extension of _her_, but the feel of his lips against hers silenced the tirade most effectively. Her lips moved clumsily against his…she had no idea what she was doing. Thank the Maker he seemed to.

Weeks later, he kissed her for the second time. When his tongue brushed across her lower lip, she felt her knees go weak. His steady arms were the only thing keeping her upright as she waded through curious new sensations that sprung up from depths previously unknown. As he pulled back, she was certain that she would lose herself in those piercing blue eyes. His coloring was like hers…dark hair standing in contrast to bright eyes but his strong features made for a much more striking specimen. The Maker put great care into creating this boy; a fact that she appreciated wholeheartedly.

The third time was even more intoxicating. She could not get enough of the feel of him, her inexperienced hands roaming everywhere, simultaneously pulling him closer and pushing him away to touch new places. His arms wrapped around her and crushed her body against his; he was stiff and pulsing against the lowest part of her belly. Something about the insistent pressure of him straining against her made the warm ache between her thighs throb more intensely than ever before. The echo of footsteps closing in on their position brought the embrace to a quick end, leaving her glowering for the rest of that night.

It was months before he would come again. When Sibylla thought she would surely lose her mind from the extended absence of him, he appeared with his father and Delilah, as if summoned by her desires. It was no easy task, containing her elation at the sight of his face. Harder still was the time she was forced to commit to Delilah at her mother's insistence. She smiled, nodded, and laughed as was polite for a lady to do when in the company of other noble ladies and it was all she could do to keep from snarling like an angry dog at the unwelcome intrusion when this precious time could be better spent _elsewhere_.

He found her after the feast and pulled her into the shadows to steal a kiss, though there were inebriated voices of jovial feast attendees all around them.

"Where have you _been_?" she asked accusingly with a petulant pout.

"With _Fergus_, you silly, jealous girl." He cradled her face in his hands, one thumb absently sweeping across her cheek. It was impossible to be angry when he smiled down at her in such an adoring manner.

"I missed you, Nat…"

"And I you." He kissed her again softly. When his lips left hers, she sighed reverently, her temper retreating like a bear gone to hibernate for the winter. With a hesitant smile, she took his hand and led him towards the stables, ducking into the alcoves every so often as castle residents and servants sprang up on the path. Once the coast was clear, she sprinted the rest of the way with him in tow, only ceasing her vigilance once they were safely inside the stables and away from the view of others.

"Up you go." She gestured to the steep ladder leading to the loft. Her brashness must have been funny, because he laughed as his hands found the rungs and looked back at her, eyes alight in amusement.

"Have you never been taught that ladies go first?"

"But Ser Howe…you'll see up my dress!"

"You say that like it's a _bad_ thing…"

"Need I remind you that I am a _lady_, Nat? It simply would not do. Now _climb_, or we'll be found."

"As the lady commands." He replied dutifully, shimmying up the ladder with entirely too much grace. Her own ascent was nowhere near that graceful thanks to the heavy skirt she was so unaccustomed to. She gratefully accepted his hand as she reached the top and let him pull her the rest of the way up onto the platform. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she darted her head and danced out of his reach with teasing laughter. He followed her into the darkness of the farthest corner of the loft in a most predatory manner, his eyes dark with desire. It was an abrupt change that sent shivers down her spine. She waited for him beneath a large hole in the thatched roof, wringing her hands as she realized that, yet _again_, she had not planned any further than _this_. Never again would she be able to honestly defend herself against accusations of impetuosity.

"Why did you bring me here?" He was directly in front of her now, his larger form making her retreat further into the shadows. She wasn't exactly afraid, but something in his voice and the way he was looking at her triggered the urge to flee; except that was the _last_ thing she wanted to do. Maker's breath, but desire didn't make sense.

"I don't know…because I missed you?" she offered quietly, barely above a whisper. "Because I wanted to be with you and _only_ you tonight?"

"But _why_?" She flinched underneath the intensity of his gaze; unable to meet his eyes for fear of disappointing the blatant desire he regarded her with.

"Because I-"

He would never know what she was about to say…or perhaps he already did and had no need of confirmation, because he was kissing her with such force that he stole the very breath from her lungs. She clung to him desperately, feasting upon his lips and darting her tongue out to brush against his, just as he'd taught her to. He backed her up against the cold stone wall, pinning her with his weight as his hands pulled at her skirts, seeking entrance. She tore her lips away and gasped wildly as his fingers slipped beneath her smallclothes. The warm ache was back with a _vengeance_, accompanied by a trembling that began low in her belly as the foreign sensation of warm fingertips sliding against her sex drew out a strangled cry.

"Shhh…they'll hear you…" he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as his fingers traced the line of her folds. She felt his lips quirk into a smile against her neck as she arched into his touch…the most agonizing _pressure_ was building within her that seemed to double when his fingers finally slipped _inside_ of her. The pad of his thumb was rubbing torturous circles against a part of her she never knew was there, making her whimper and quiver against him, her heart skipping along like a nervous, twitchy rabbit. Her breath was coming in shallow pants as the heat rose from her core. He worked his fingers in and against her with a skill that he had no business possessing until she felt something within her give way; the pressure released with a _pop_ like the release of the cork from a bottle of mead. She tensed up, grinding her head back against the stones and watched from underneath the hole in the roof as the stars blurred together into one single shining light, the most exquisite feeling of unadulterated rapture radiating through her. She rode it until there was no strength left in her and fell into him, limp and panting.

There was no time for coherent thoughts to form as he gathered her into his arms and brought them both down to the floor. Her poor heart was racing again as he reached beneath her skirts to pull her smallclothes away. She propped herself up as he nudged her legs apart with his thigh and settled between them, eyeing her with such hunger that she wondered if she shouldn't be afraid. Her eyes went wide as she watched him unlace his breeches and shove them down past his hips, his rigid and swollen cock springing into view. She shifted her weight to one hand and reached out with the other, brushing her fingertips along the shaft and marveling at the velvety texture of it. She wasn't sure what she had expected…coarser, perhaps? Nathaniel drew in a sharp breath and gripped her thighs tightly as she explored this new part of him that she'd only dimly been aware of in the past. He pulsed beneath her touch, which made her hesitate. His hand found hers and circled it around him, guiding her closed fist slowly up and down in smooth strokes until he shuddered. His free hand pushed her skirts up to her waist and before she knew what was happening, her hand was drawn away and she was lying flat on her back. He hovered above her, his weight balanced on his elbows, the tip of him nudging against her. His dark hair hung down like a black curtain, the ends tickling her cheek as he gazed into her eyes, shaking from the effort of restraining himself thus far.

"Sibyl…have you ever done this before?" Even his _voice_ was shaky.

"No…never."

He closed his eyes and let his forehead drop down to rest against hers. She nearly apologized because it seemed like he was disappointed in her answer.

"Then this is going to hurt you…"

"Nat…please. I want you to."

"I don't _want_ to hurt you. Not ever."

"Nat. Nat, look at me."

He slowly blinked his eyes open, regarding her with such an apologetic gaze that _she_ felt guilty for wanting him.

"I brought you here because I wanted you. I want it to be _you_. Nat, please…please don't let it be someone else."

He was so close to giving in…his hips jerked slightly, the tip of him just barely sliding into her. She was surprised and strangely bereft when he pulled back.

"Andraste's sword…I _can't_."

He rolled off of her and stood, pulling his breeches back up. He disappeared down the ladder without a second look, leaving her to wonder just what she'd done _wrong_.

He was gone the next day. He'd left at dawn, beginning the ride home ahead of his father and Delilah. Sibylla sat through the morning meal in silence. His cowardly departure only cemented the anger she felt and in that moment, she _hated_ him. Arl Howe's voice managed to break through the chaotic churning in her mind; he was speaking of Nathaniel and her curiosity got the better of her.

"He's upset, naturally. I can hardly blame the lad but Nathaniel has been such a _problem_ that he's given me little choice. If he is to be molded and disciplined, it must be _away_ from the comforts of home."

"But the Free Marches, Rendon? Could he not squire somewhere closer to home? It just seems so…"

"I know it seems cold, my Lady…but believe me, it's for the best. If I let his behavior continue as such, he would only bring shame upon our family. No…this is the right choice. He will flourish there, I'm sure of it."

The Free Marches. He was being sent away and didn't even bother to _tell_ her. Thank the Maker he seemed to have a conscience, even if he didn't have a _heart_.

"Such a shame…he always seemed like such a well-mannered young man."

Her anger dissipated over time; there was simply nothing left to fuel it anymore. She realized that he'd actually done her a great service that day. Had he followed through, she would very likely have gone to the Free Marches to find him…gone to the ends of the earth, if that was where he would be. Such youthful passions never really lasted, anyway. All she had to do was watch Fergus and his many dalliances that flowered and died within a _month_ to know that she was lucky to walk away from Nathaniel intact. The girls that were pushed out of Fergus's bed could not say the same.

Two years later, she barely thinks of him at all. The memories stir at odd times, but she is strangely indifferent.

Stranger still, is the fact that she is nearly all he thinks of during his five excruciating years in the Free Marches. Whether it is love or guilt, he isn't sure. It is the hope that he will someday see her again that drives him on, if for no other reason than to explain, apologize, and thank her for being the one bright spot in his younger years. Maker willing, he'll have the opportunity if she's survived the blight in Ferelden.


End file.
